Beginning Again

Things are great. I've landed a job that I had previously thought only possible in my imagination. It's allowing me to use my (English) major much more than the HR job I was working when I was pumping my ideas into the blogosphere in 2006.

Now that I've had time to take control -- and choose a direction -- I find myself missing the blog world. But wondering how, exactly, to jump back in has me thinking about how it all started for me in the first place.

In all honesty, I began writing this blog because of a guy. In late 2005, I was dating Paul, a UVA grad that was addicted to DC Bachelor. He was friends of friends of his, and found him hilarious. Paul encouraged me to read DCB's blog, too.

At the time, Paul was one of the nicest guys I'd met. So imagine my horror when I actually finally read DCB's blog. This was what my nice guy was reading every day? How could a nice guy possibly find this hilarious?

I found myself reading Roosh's blog every day, too. Not because I liked it. But because I had to unlock the mystery of how the guy opening doors for me on dates could be reading DCB at work the following Monday morning.

My blog routine was set long before things inevitably ended with Nice Paul. (I'm too loud-mouthed for that sweet UVA grad.) Whatever his views, Roosh can be funny. And infuriating. And ingenious.

Temping cube jockey that I was, Roosh's boldness was inspiring. It made me want to lend my voice to the conversation. It made me want to be a strong, vocal, female counter-note. Click through 2006, and I think you'll find a few examples of when I was able to do that successfully (though never to the same degree of popularity as DCB).

If anything, as I settle into something that I really enjoy doing, and am beginning to master, I find myself yearning to be part of something larger than myself, just as I had back in 2005.

I'll be checking in on my old blog friends this week, and commenting. I'm still trying to decide whether I can translate my new life (sans bartending and the punk band) into a voice that I think is worth listening to (or reading).

I'll keep you posted.



I'm in hell. Or a very invasive version of shock therapy.

A man sat down next to me at Caribou, where I'm working b/c the internet is out at my office.

He's gabbing on the phone about his divorce, about how his kids are taking it, how he feels bad that his wife will have to grow old by herself, that he wishes he'd met his new girlfriend 12 years ago, only then she would have been 12.

"It's gonna take a while to deal with the kids," he just said.

"She'll be fine. She's strong, a survivor."

"She's gettin' fucking everything. My direct deposit from New York."

"That's a good idea -- I'll do that right away."

"Yeah, I mean I had to start a new life. I took Heather to Florida."

Is it appropriate to start crying in the middle of Caribou??